


Death by A Thousand Cuts

by genevievedarcygranger



Series: Hotch x Reader / Hotch x You [28]
Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Day 6, Day Six, Domestic Disputes, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, M/M, More Hotch Content 2020, More Hotch Content 2020 Day 6, More Hotch Content 2020 Day Six, One Shot, POV Second Person, Prompt: Rocky Relationships, Reader-Insert, Short One Shot, Song Lyrics, Song fic, Song: Death By A Thousand Cuts (Taylor Swift), Unhealthy Relationships, Workaholic Aaron Hotchner
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-23
Updated: 2020-11-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:34:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27678158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/genevievedarcygranger/pseuds/genevievedarcygranger
Summary: Hotch forgets your birthday.
Relationships: Aaron Hotchner/Reader, Aaron Hotchner/You
Series: Hotch x Reader / Hotch x You [28]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1862236
Comments: 7
Kudos: 80





	Death by A Thousand Cuts

_“‘Cause I can't pretend it's okay when it's not_

_It's death by a thousand cuts_

_…_

_I take the long way home_

_I ask the traffic lights if it'll be alright_

_They say, ‘I don’t know.’”_

\- “Death by A Thousand Cuts,” _Taylor Swift_

* * *

By the time Hotch came home, you were contemplating if you should just give up and go back to your apartment. Jack was spending the night with friends, something was planned weeks ago in preparation for this night, but it looked like it was all for nothing as you checked the time. Half past ten. You should have just gone home; you dreaded the thought of curling up in his bed alone, surrounded by his scent, but ultimately cold in the sheets.

But you missed your chance. The writhing knot of snakes in your stomach had been replaced by hollowness as you heard Hotch’s keys jingle outside the door and scrape against the locks. You looked down at yourself, all dressed up with no where to go. The dinner that you had made – that he was supposed to make – was already packed away in Tupperware containers in the fridge, and the dishes were in the dishwasher for you to run before heading to bed. You hadn’t been able to make yourself eat anything.

It was not your idea to celebrate your birthday. Your birthday wasn’t that important of a date for you anyway. You disliked the attention. But Hotch had gotten the idea to do something special for yours specifically because the two of you rarely had a night alone anymore. That, and you supposed he felt guilty about how meticulously you planned his own special birthday dinner that he missed because of a case. This time there was no excuses about a case. You knew Hotch stayed so late to catch up on paperwork. He forgot what day it was.

There were no “Happy Birthday” texts this morning. He never called to say anything. He didn’t send flowers to your office. Hotch forgot it was your birthday.

And you were a fully grown adult. You tried to not let it bother you, but after you both had gone through the trouble of making this plan, it did bother you. Obviously. It would bother anybody for their significant other to forget their birthday.

Of course, it also didn’t help that you could feel him slipping away from you. It killed you to watch him go, to see him build an impenetrable wall between you that you tried to scale everyday only for him to build it higher than before. He wasn’t the same man as before.

That change wasn’t necessarily his fault, though. You suspected it had a lot to do with his job. Hotch felt guilty about how much he was away from you, but instead of trying to make up for it, he thought the best thing to do was to pull away. You wished he would just break up with you, but it seemed like he’d rather you do it, that way you wouldn’t be that upset. You weren’t going to do it.

What Hotch didn’t realize was that he made you happier than you’ve been for a long, long time. He should have known that you wouldn’t let go of this so quickly or so easily. After all, you’d been the one to pursue him. You asked him out. You took him on the first date, even though he had to blow you off the first two times due to unexpected travels and Jack catching a nasty stomach bug. You were the one to call him every night, even if it was just to say goodnight.

But you were tired of being the only one trying. You never felt like you were a replacement for his dead wife. You never felt like you were just an unpaid babysitter for Jack. You would never resent him for his son or his own trauma. You were even tentative friends with Jessica. She liked you. Jack liked you. You thought Hotch loved you, but you couldn’t be sure. He hadn’t said so yet.

And that was part of the problem. Something was holding him back. No matter what you did to get through to him, you could never fully have him.

So, when you heard Hotch step inside the apartment, you quickly wiped the tears from your face and stood up from the couch. You ignored him as you quickly folded up the throw blanket and tossed it over the back of the couch. You tried to mask your shaking hands by unnecessarily fluffing up the pillows. You couldn’t hide how you stiffened at the touch of Hotch’s gentle hand on your lower back.

“Baby,” he greeted you, “What are you doing here so late?”

Taking a deep, fortifying breath, you turned around to face him. The genuine look of confusion on his face hurt.

When you didn’t say anything, he looked around for clues, but other than your outfit, everything was hidden away. His eyes landed on you again. “Were you waiting for me?”

Your answering nod was jerky, like a robot in need of oil in the joints. “Yes. Jack is at a sleepover tonight.”

“I know that.” Hotch’s tone was so gentle, and it made it so hard to be angry at him. Which is why you weren’t angry; you were just upset. “Did we have a date plan tonight? I’m sorry I forgot. Work has just been… a lot lately.”

Your reply was automatic. “I understand.”

Hotch’s soft brown eyes searched your face as he took your hands in his own. “You look like you’ve been crying. Did something happen? You know you can always call me if you need me.”

And there was another dilemma. You weren’t sure if you could even do that. Once you realized that Hotch was beyond the point of being late and he just wasn’t coming, you had debated whether you should call him or text him a reminder. But you couldn’t make yourself do it. In your mind, it sounded so needy to ask him to be there for you. You didn’t want to be just another burden for him.

"It’s fine,” you dismissed with a sniffle. It wasn’t fine. “I’ll just go. Don’t worry about it.”

“Are you sure? Have you eaten?” You easily slipped your hands free of Hotch’s grip. “I don’t think you should be driving right now. It’s so late. Why don’t you stay here with me?”

"No, I should really just be going.” You turned away and made for the door. “Bye Aaron.”

* * *

On the drive home, you mastered the art of sobbing with your eyes open. As soon as you made it out to your car, you had turned your phone off. When you reached your apartment, you lingered in your car, your forehead pressed to the steering wheel until the leather pattern left a crease on your skin. You felt dehydrated when you finally dragged yourself out and to your apartment door, the cool night air at first a cooling balm and then a stinging bite to your overheated face.

As you searched for your apartment keys, you were trying to decide how to move forward from this. Should you ignore it? Should you bring it to him tomorrow? Should you actually break up with the man who clearly didn’t love you? Lost in thought, only half-searching for your keys, you shuddered in dread. For now, all you wanted to do was curl up in your own bed and go to sleep, hopefully without anymore crying. A headache was already threatening to pound the inside of your skull.

The sound of Hotch’s voice behind you startled you into dropping your keys. “I forgot your birthday,” he admitted.

You turned around and pressed your back against the door of your apartment. “You did. It’s okay.”

“It’s not okay,” he argued, frowning at you. He was the one to kneel down and collect your keys. When he passed them to you, you did nothing. All you could do was stare at him. “I didn’t realize it was your birthday until I remembered that I left your present in my dresser this morning.”

“Was that after I left this evening?”

The guilt on Hotch’s face made him look like a kicked puppy. “It was when I was changing out of my suit.” Shaking his head at himself, Hotch started to apologize, “I should have remembered your birthday, baby. I’m so sorry. There’s – there’s no excuses, but I want to make it up to you.”

The resignation in your tone was clear. “Aaron, it’s not that big of a deal. It’s not like it was an important birthday, and I’m not five-years-old. I don’t care. I know that you care more about your job than you do about me anyway.”

Once those words were out of your mouth, you immediately wanted to snatch them back. Your face crumpled in regret, and you brought the hands clutching your keys to your lips. Those words were never meant to be spoken aloud, though you thought them to yourself many times.

The look on Hotch’s face, as if you had stabbed him, was exactly why you had never meant to reveal what you knew to be true. “That’s not true,” he denied, but his voice was weak and breathy.

“No, it isn’t true,” you lied. “I was just…I was mad when I said that.”

“No, you weren’t.”

You were not mad.

The corners of Hotch’s eyes were pinched in pain, in emotional turmoil. You were familiar with the expression from when his sleep was disturbed by his nightmares. “Please, let me make this up to you. There’s still time before your birthday is over. We can reschedule. Let me come inside, baby. Let me in.”

Your eyes slipped shut, and you huffed through your nose at the irony. “I… It’s late, Aaron. Go home. You have work tomorrow, and so do I.” Turning your back on him, you fumbled with the lock to your apartment. “We can try again another time, but now right now.”

“Baby,” Hotch tried one last time, “I love you. Don’t leave me.”

Now you were the one who felt like you were stabbed, except the pain was more like a kick to the gut. The words you had so wanted to hear – but never in this context – expelled all of the breath from your lungs. But you did not turn around out of fear that you had just made it all up, that you imagined his realization, his apology, his love. You did not want to turn and find him a pillar of sand. “I love you, too, and I’m not leaving you. Just, give me some time. Please.”

Hotch’s voice was so soft behind you that you barely heard him. “Okay.” He repeated, “Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow, baby.”

“Yeah,” you mumbled lazily, not really thinking about the words. The lock clicked, and you more or less fell in your apartment in your desperation to escape him. You shut the door behind you as if you expected him to break in, and your keys locked the door again with finality.

While you were hurt, you knew that there was always tomorrow. Everyone deserved a second chance.


End file.
